C'est Amore
by Cerise Murmur
Summary: What is what Marla and Tyler have? Is it love? Marla/Tyler, Rated M, sex guys. Kay?


**Holycrap, Fight Club. It has been awhile my friend.**

**Reviews are sexy. **

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Marla Singer didn't get used.

Marla Singer absolutely refused to believe that what her and Tyler Durden had was anything short of love, or at least that there was a minimal amount of liking going on so it wasn't just 'fucking.' And as it turns out, whatever it was that Marla and Tyler had, she was returning to it.

Her eyes followed the lines of the pavement as she neared her destination, she watched as they became dirtier and dirtier and as the waste on the side of the road became more and more obscene. A condom…a needle, she must be getting close. See, when Marla payed her daily visit to Paper Street she played this game. She would guess when she had arrived at the colossal crumbling house by the litter that decorated its sidewalk.

A sly smile lit her face as she glimpsed a bar of soap – still wet, blood clinging desperately to its suds. She was here. She looked up and surveyed the house, the peeling vinyl, the cracking windows, the moldy doors, the caving roof. At least it was better than her place. At least life existed here, even if it was in its most vulgar form.

Her heels clicked solidly on the sidewalk as she made her way to the mess, her eyes still cast downwards, her thin shoulders shivering in her shawl.

When she reached the door she raised her hand to knock, but as soon as her knuckles hit the wood it buckled and fell, and suddenly she was standing in front of a door less house, looking in. She cast a frustrated look at the door before she decided to leave it for Tyler to fix, or one of his little servants, or whatever he called them.

She walked in, stepping over books and appliances, clothes, moldy food, rusted furniture.

"Tyler?" she called out, raising an eyebrow at the mess that Tyler has evidently just made, and the fact that there was no Tyler.

"Hello?" she called again, turning around and deciding the brave the obstacle of the stairs.

When she reached the top she heard something coming from one of the side rooms.

"I've been looking everywhere for you." She said, before she pushed open the door.

Tyler was there, in all of his glory, taking a bath. She smiled, feeling the familiar fluttering in her stomach at the sight of his nude body.

"Hey." He said, continuing to rub his small pink bar of soap all over his toned body, taking extra care to lather in between his ab muscles, and the small area between his manhood and his bellybutton.

Marla shivered, stepping forward another step and closing the bathroom door behind her.

From the way he was looking at her, she knew what was on his mind…of course that same thing was always on his mind…but it was on hers too, so she couldn't blame him.

"Well, come on" he said, the soap now lathering his arms.

Marla let her shawl fall to the ground and pool at her feet, her shoes following it a second later. She wasn't wearing underwear or a bra, she never did when she came here. What was the point? Her dress came next, she didn't bother with putting on a show, she just pulled it over her head and threw it into the corner.

She looked back at Tyler and at the soap that was now moving in small circles on his lower stomach.

"Help." He said, glancing down at his dick, which was only halfway erect.

She smiled, crossing the room in one stride. She bent over the tub and let her tongue roll over his head, pausing to watch his leg muscles flex and watch him immediately grow half an inch. 4 inches now.

Her tongue slid down his shaft,

4 ½ inches.

Slid back up again.

5 inches.

She took him in her mouth, pushing in only a few inches.

6 inches.

She pushed a couple more inches.

7 inches.

She repeated the motion.

9 inches.

She felt his hand on the back of her head, pulling her up. His eyes had darkened a shade.

"Counter. Now." He was already standing up, his dick standing straight and erect, ready for anything.

Marla Singer didn't get used.

She walked over to the counter bracing her hands solidly on the cool, cracked marble surface. She felt him behind her, she felt him brush against her, she felt her sex throb, she bent further, exposing herself to him.

"Ready for this?" he growled, grasping her hips hard, grinding into her.

"Of course." She answered, her voice husky with arousal.

He slammed into her, she gripped the marble harder, resting her cheek against the mirror to steady herself more.

He thrust into her again.

A moan.

And again.

Marla Singer didn't get used.

And again.

A grunt.

Tyler was in love with her.

Again and again.

Cool mirror, cool marble.

And she was in love with him.

Again.

Building moans.

Or at least Tyler liked Marla a lot.

Again.

A fair amount.

Again.

Enough to keep wanting her.

Again.

Thrust.

And an explosion, Tyler collapsing against her, then pushing off of her, his dick wet with her juices, her – panting on the marble counter.

"I'm going to take a nap. You know the way out." Tyler ran his hand across his mouth and walked out of the bathroom.

Marla Singer didn't get used.

Marla Singer didn't want to believe she was being used.


End file.
